


The Feathered Thing

by lirason



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Shinichi week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirason/pseuds/lirason
Summary: Ichigo drifts through empty sideways streets.
Relationships: Hirako Shinji/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106
Collections: ShinIchi Weekend 2020





	The Feathered Thing

The first thing that Ichigo notices after the last scraps of power fade is the blank faces. He's not sure if the face blindness came first, and his other senses grew to compensate, or if his other senses having always been there- his whole life until now- had caused his ability to see faces to atrophy and wither. 

People who he now barely recognize, slowly file out of his life, the result of a decision made while they waited for him to wake. 

***

The visord had the additional missing element of the hollow he could no longer feel. Ichigo was used to each to have their own sarcastic remark or bone deep feeling as his hollow greeted one of their own. Now only echoes fading in his memory remain.  _ Shiro, what have I done? _

Ichigo would have to be forgiven for never being able to clearly recall the conversation afterwards. All the other visord had scattered leaving just what Ichigo was fairly sure was Shinji. Fairly, at any rate. 

Instead of what was discussed, he could only think of an almost familiar face, instead of what his eyes and brain just slid over. The news, delivered by an empty voice, thin like a radio broadcast stretched too far. And the yawning empty quiet inside Ichigo’s own head. 

He did get the idea, though. Apparently sticking by him forever came with terms and conditions. Terms and conditions that were no longer met. 

***

Compared to this yearning emptiness inside his head, his new friend-free life was hardly noticeable. If he was being honest, he wasn't noticing much. The haze seemed to grow each day, along with the quiet. 

***

The tremors came next. Nothing dramatic at first. Just one day he went to pick up his tea and he could barely hold it. He has been slightly shaky for a while now, between stress and exhaustion, so perhaps it just took a while for him to notice. 

Soon enough, the trembling gives way to something stronger. Ichigo struggles to get dressed in the morning, and to hide the rattling cutlery at dinner. He begins to record his lectures, rather than take notes, or to highlight the books with a highlighter held in his fist.

A few months pass and he notices the hair on his pillow. Running his hand as best he can through his hair gains him a fistful of loose hair. He has to scrupulously clean the shower trap every evening, and his pillow case every morning. 

***

Ichigo sits heavily on a bench near the entrance of the building. While he might not be able to feel his foot, it wouldn't hold weight, and judging by the tightness in his shoe his ankle had rapidly begun to swell. Bracing his trembling arms against his legs he gingerly pulls out his mobile. He's used it less and less as his hands worsened.  _ And it's not like there's anyone to call anyways,  _ he thinks wryly. None of his friends ever pick up anymore, the number of the store has apparently been changed, or maybe Urahara has shut it down entirely since it never seems to be open. 

He is drawn out of his contemplation when a well dressed man abruptly stops in front of him. Looking up he casts a hopeful glance for a name tag. 

_ No name tag, but white hair. Given the location that leaves me with the guess of  _ "-Ryūken?"

The aggravated sigh proved he was on the mark, as well as interrupting the older man. 

"Sorry, it's hard. I can't see people properly anymore, so it sometimes takes me a minute to work out who's speaking to me."  _ Provided anyone will, but I suppose I should leave that out.  _ "I hate to impose, but I fell running and my ankle won't hold weight."

***

Ichigo sits on the Ishida household kitchen table. His ankle is stretched out in front of him, resting on the back of a chair. Distantly he supposes he should be upset with the black swollen mess, but it is tough to focus through the continuous haze and there is no pain. Instead his thoughts run round and round through the empty streets of his soulscape. 

“- Ichigo, Ichigo! Are you with me now? How long have you been unable to feel your legs?”

Taking a moment to focus, he says, “Since slightly after my hands started shaking. They’re fairly numb now too.”  _ Actually this should probably be more concerning,  _ he thinks absently. 

A low swear as Ryūken grabs his left hand, prodding it, and pulling it to and fro while squinting at it under the light, repeating the action with his right. In the background, movement catches Ichigo’s eye as Uryū tries to eavesdrop from the kitchen. 

“I don’t understand, why didn’t you say anything?” Ryūken finally asks, leaning on the table next to where Ichigo is sitting. 

“I tried. Tried my father, tried the shop, tried him,” Ichigo says, waving in the general direction of the kitchen to indicate their listener. “Honestly everyone had stopped talking to me by the time it was bad, and they had stopped listening to me before then.” Giving in to a moment of petulance he says, “Everyone decided that I was to have a normal life, and I don’t know what that is. I’ve always seen spirits, I’ve always seen hollows. Now, I feel nearly blind and everything is so muffled, so it took a while to notice my body was off.”

Pausing, he lifts his hand to watch it shake. Ryūken starts to say something when Ichigo continues, “Everyone was so insistent on a normal life, but all I have is a slow death.”

Ryūken puts his hand on Ichigo’s shoulder. “Give us a chance, we'll try to fix it.”

Ichigo drifts. 

***

Ichigo lays on his side in his childhood bedroom. At some point his father was called, and he had gone home. After several days of tests and brainstorming, the diagnosis had been that his quincy abilities were missing. Since his soul meant to always draw in  Reishi , it was now collapsing in on itself. No one was sure what would happen to him when it finally collapsed completely, only that that was something best to be avoided.

Ichigo now wears a variety of devices of both Quincy and Shinigami origin. They cause his feet to burn and tingle, and the fog to lift, but it never lasts for long. It was a bucket of water into a dry lake, too little absorbed too quickly. 

***

Ichigo is next aware of strong fingers running through his thin hair, and a line of warmth along his front. He’s sprawled, boneless, on top of an ocean of Reiryoku. The fog has lifted a bit more and as he comes to he realizes that he feels more, and better, than he has in months. Hazarding a look up, he’s surprised to be able to actually recognize the face looking back at him. ... _ Shinji... What is he doing here…? _

“‘ey there, you back with us?”

Yes, it’s Shinji alright, there’s no faking that accent or those bangs. Which still doesn’t explain the fact that Ichigo is apparently using him as a futon. His confusion must show clearly enough that Shinji continues. 

“‘ey, you’ve given us all quite the scare, ‘Go. I’ve seen less productive meetings during actual invasions, so rest assured you continue to work miracles. We’re getting close, close to fixing you all up and getting you back to where you were.”

“But what are you doing? Here? Now? With me? I haven’t seen you in months and now you’re just…” Ichigo trails off, still not awake enough to fully articulate his thoughts. Shinji starts to look a bit shifty, and Ichigo has a bad feeling about what he’ll say next. 

“So you know about the soul imploding part, right?” Shinji asked. Ichigo nodded, granted he didn’t really remember the details, but the implication of ‘implosion’ was clear enough. “And for the last little bit they’ve been trying to pump you full of  Reishi , to try and stave it off but you’re hemorrhaging faster-- Well, they needed a bit more time, so I offered-- Look you know that Shiro-”

Ichgo starts at the name. “No, Shiro is dead, he’s dead because I killed him. He’s dead because you people couldn’t handle your own problems, so I cut myself into pieces. He’s dead.”

Climbing hastily out of bed Ichigo started to try and back away. Tangled sheets, and a befuddled head cause him to trip. He slams into his desk, then falls towards the floor. Strong hands catch him before he makes it all the way there, and then he is guided back to the bed. 

Ichigo barely notices. The silence in his head has grown to a roar, and he’s lost in sideways streets. 

***

“We have to move faster. I thought I bought ‘im more time than this, but ‘e’s barely aware even now,” Shinji says as he strides into the room. The other occupants barely look up from where they are huddled over a set of plans. Shinji drops gracelessly into a nearby chair and takes a moment to scratch the start of stubble along his chin before continuing, “‘e recognized me, which I thought was progress, but the instant I mentioned Shiro ‘e freaked.”

Shinji leans back, staring at the ceiling as he tries to breathe. His leg won’t stop twitching. He knew the risks of course, but it was worse than they had anticipated. Finally one of the others in the room sits back on his heels and looks up from the low table currently covered in sums and formulas.

“Did you have a moment to explain your new role in this?” Urahara asks.

“Nah, ‘e wore ‘imself out on the freakout, I put ‘im to bed.” Shinji says with a sigh, now scrubbing at an eye and the headache building there.

“Well, there’s nothing more you can do other than stick close” says Urahara.”I’m currently finding the last few sources of  Reishi  and once that’s done he should be able to mend. He won’t be instantly cured mind you, but he should be able to recover-”

“What have you managed to find?” Yoruichi asks, impatiently. A woman always predisposed to action, sitting by while waiting for something,  _ anything _ to happen was maddening. “We have the contribution of almost every upper officer in the Gotei 13. Even the Quincies helped. What more is there?”

“I do have one idea,” Urahara says, and raises his fan, only to have it swatted away. Blinking, he continues, “I can think of only one source large enough that can overcome the rate of loss from the soul instability. I wouldn’t suggest it but I think we’re out of time, even with Shinji’s help.”

Pausing under the combined glare of every person in the room, he casts a mournful glance at his fan before someone rudely clears their throat. “The Hōgyoku.”

The room falls into a long and measured pause.

“I can’t believe I’m currently hoping that you have another one stashed away in your sock drawer, because if you don’t there’s only one that I know of and that's stuck in that bastard’s chest,” Shinji finally says. Urahara wilts further at this, and Shinji sighs for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes. “Fine then, but you’re going and you’re explaining all of this.”

***

Shinji pauses in the doorway, taking a moment to breathe in the cool evening air. He walks over to the edge of the porch and drops down to sit, mindful of his tea.  _ Three days since Urahara’s been gone, and a week since I’ve been here. He’s a fighter but he’s nearly out of fight.  _ Shinji would not, could not think about the consequences of Ichigo losing that fight. Shinji knew what they were when he made the choice, now he just hopes that Ichigo can learn to forgive him.

His tea has nearly gone cold when he feels the opening of the  Senkaimon . Rising, he quickly makes his way to the hatch leading to the basement, only to meet Urahara as he exits.

“What took you so long? The only thing I’ve gotten is some cryptic note about needing additional authorization? Did you get him to cooperate? Is it enough?” Shinji asks, barely taking the time to breathe between questions. All the stress from the last week has consolidated to this moment, and he feels like there was a live wire under his skin. 

“Sorry, sorry, yes, yes,” says Urahara as he breezes past Shinji towards the room that Ichigo has occupied for the last week. Briefly dumbfounded, Shinji hurries to catch up to him, ignoring the entourage that has apparently come from Soul Society. 

“Aizen would only agree in exchange for a reduced sentence. That took a good deal of maneuvering to get through, though why it’s even a concern when the sentence is already so long is an outstanding question,” Urahara continues. Pausing at the threshold to the room, he took in the bundle of blankets curled on the futon. In a quieter voice he says, “We have it now, it might take him a bit, but he’ll recover.”

Shinji finally allows himself the luxury of hope. 

***

Shinji sighs, as he looks at his desk. The paperwork covering it is nearly as high as he is tall. Unfortunately during his two week stay in the living world, Momo had another one of her episodes. Shinji was impressed with the degree his division pulled together since he didn’t come back to a complete disaster.

In the end, restoring Ichigo’s powers was anticlimactic. After months of suffering, calculations, begging and work it just came down to one sword thrust. A sword thrust that Ichigo was barely awake for, even though they made sure he was upright and mostly aware- or as aware as he could be. 

Ichigo then slept for two days, as Shinji hovered over him. Once recovered, Ichigo made a spectacular and loud exit. 

_ Can’t blame the kid, it’s not like we treated him well at all. Though I never did get the chance to explain why I was there in the first place. If he took the last year this badly, well I hope he forgives me at some point.  _

Shinji glances out the window when he hears some particularly loud passers-by. It’s right before New Years, and most of the Seireitei is in a festive mood. Nearly all of the division is already off, and either out with friends, family or just finding a party to attend. Shinji himself has invitations to festivities, but he’s determined to see the actual top of his desk in the new year.

He works on paperwork and filing for another hour. While a division tends to generate quite a bit of paper, the Fifth’s current backlog stretched to before the defection and subsequent war. Catching up is going to be nothing short of monumental, even with every ounce of help he can get. Just as the sums for some long forgotten procurement request started to swim in front of his eyes, his office door slams open causing him to jerk upright. Shinji stares, standing in the door was the last person he expected to see. 

***

Ichigo barely remembered the sword that restored his Reiryoku. Even by his standards getting stabbed in the chest was usually fairly memorable, but by that point the only stable beacon in his world was Shinji. So he stood, where Shinji told him to, and kept looking at Shinji for what his reaction should be as his chest blossomed with fire. Later he lay for two days in the small room he had been staying in, curled around Shinji struggling to make the world make sense even as it came alive again. 

In the end it was the visitors from Soul Society that drove him away. Ichigo could not, would not just pick back up from where they were after the last battle. A year and a half had passed, and he had nearly died for them...again. Still they needled and pushed. Refusing to leave him alone when he was awake, which caused him to spend quite a bit of time pretending to be asleep. Ichigo chose not to dwell on the fact that this had the bonus of a hovering Shinji, because really since when was that a bonus?

Finally, after an unnecessarily confrontational breakfast Ichigo had had enough, and left. Wracking his brain for the last place anyone would look, he started across town to the one other place that had  Reishi  users and wards. Ryūken merely raised an eyebrow when he opened the door, then directed him down the hall to a spare bed. 

***

Now Ichigo wanders through crowded, loud streets feeling like more of an invader now than when he actually invaded. These aren’t his friends or comrades, not really. And the entire celebration is oddly off from what Ichigo was used to back home. Close enough to almost be comfortable, then with sudden shifts away from what he felt was normal. He had ditched everyone between the second and third bar, since his companions got more and more emotional as the night wore on. 

Instead, he now walks towards the fifth division offices, drawn like a lodestone towards the tug in his inner world. 

Reaching the offices, he throws open the door in what was an unintentionally dramatic way. Over a year has passed since he was anywhere close to full strength, afterall. Taking in the office, he feels his stomach drop, and he frantically tries to think of where to start. After a moment’s hesitation, he defaults to his usual tactic of ‘fortune favors the bold’ and marches over to throw himself into a chair in front of Shinji’s desk. 

Shinji, who still looks a bit stunned. 

“Shinji-” Ichigo says, pausing a second as Shinji’s eyes snap up to his, “Just why in hell is there a bridge in my soulscape?”

Shinji’s eyes go back to resolutely looking at the paperwork in front of him, and the silence stretches as they wait each other out. Finally, Shinji leans back and lifts his eyes to look at Ichigo.

“Ya weren’t gonna make it. By the time we’d realized what was ‘appening, ya were too far gone. An’ we weren’t sure what would happen, what with the implosion and all,” Shinji says, pausing long enough to gather his words that Ichigo shifts impatiently. “We had to buy you time, and everything we were tryin’, it wasn’t enough. Finally, we bound you up to me. I ‘ad a ‘ollow, and it and Shiro seemed to get along well enough.”

“And what, precisely, would have happened if the blade wasn’t ready in time?,” Ichigo bites out, color rising high on his cheeks. “Because if the answer is your soul would have imploded too, then damn it, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you were worth it! And that you had given so, so much that I had to give something back. And I was thinking- thinking that I loved you, and I couldn’t stand to be in a world where I lived and you did not.”

“Shinji, I’m n-not worth  _ that,  _ you sh-shouldn’t have,” Ichigo says quietly. He had sat back, shaking his head at the last part, eyes slightly wild. 

Crossing around his desk, Shinji kneels in front of where he was sitting. 

“You’re worth it, ‘course you are. I’ve loved you for so, so long, been hoping to have it returned for nearly as long. Ichigo, I’d do it again, even with the risk. ‘ell, I’d do it even knowing that it would fail. Some things are worth it, and you’re one of them.”

Ichigo deflates as he speaks, as all the fight left him at once.

“I love you too,” Ichigo says, slightly mumbled around a watery smile.

Finally, after 100 years of blood, betrayal, tears and hollow screams, something loosened in Shinji, and that hope from weeks before roots a little deeper. Maybe, finally things will turn out alright. They have love now,more time and of course hope. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
